


The Tell Tale Templar

by Eravalefantasy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Experimental Style, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Madness, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/pseuds/Eravalefantasy
Summary: Told in the style of the Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe. Cullen decides to give the Inquisitor his treasured coin, but his failure to do so leads to an act of voyeurism. the resulting guilt tears his sensibilities apart.





	

MAKER’S BREATH! Would that I could explain the actions of the past few days, but you too would think me as mad as the others. While I admit the lyrium withdrawal may have sharpened some of my senses – although I should think they would have been destroyed rather than enhanced – I have taken pride in myself and my acuity of awareness and my sense of logic. I have seen things to make other men mad and hide within their own mind. How is it only now that I am considered mad? I write in riddles and nonsense, but such is my state. I digress. The story must be told.

The story itself is not logical, and it is impossible to recall when the idea first took root. But once it did. . .it haunted me - day and night and night and day, an unrelenting weight upon my soul.

I loved her and it was born of this love the notion I would give her the piece of me that had no taint, no sourness of life and no bitterness of experience. My coin. Whenever I thought to give her some part of me that was not as damaged as me the coin returned to my thoughts. However, as the moments presented themselves piece by piece my blood ran cold and fear would silence me once again until finally a plan began to take shape. I would take her to the lake and there express every part of myself to her.

Now, do not coo and make noises to mock me. You may see my trepidation as folly and call me mad for all my faults. But if you truly understood me, you would see the logic in my plans. I realized I had never felt such feelings before and it is for this reason that I had to proceed with such caution around her. I was never more kind, supportive or attentive to anyone else in my life. I allowed her to seep into my days as water filling cracks in stone, she simply flowed in and out without care or caution – I allowed it until I felt I might burst.  

Eight nights. I had but eight nights to give her my heart before she left once again. The sun reminded me at each dawn that my task lay before me. The first night, I turned the latch to her door and crept – oh so gently! And then, sticking my head within her room I peered about in the darkness. You would have laughed to see how ridiculous I looked skulking about in the darkness to find her only to realize she was not resting within it.

It took me an hour to calm myself, thinking the worst, thinking her cavorting with Bull or the Warden. I knew she wouldn’t but madness thinks for itself and marries the truth to the fear.

The second night, she sought my company in the warm glow of the Rest. Ha! I had her full attention enraptured by my stories of youth and her. . .somehow when dawn came and the coin still remained in my pocket I realized my failure which she mistook for exhaustion and ordered me to bed.

And this I did for seven long nights --every day,  we would speak --but I found her busy or fixed on another task; so it was impossible to do my work, it was not her who vexed me, but my coin.

And every morning, when the day broke, somehow I would resolve to leave it safely in its place, and promise to fulfill my oath in a hearty tone and jovial laugh. However, you see it was the coin that mocked and taunted my failures and drove my madness.

Upon the eighth night, I was more than usually cautious. To think that there I was, opening the door, creeping into her room unbidden. I chuckled at the idea; half a dozen courtiers and soldiers saw my march through the great hall and one even saluted as I opened the door to her quarters. Hardly secret deeds could be justified with the entire racket. I was sure she heard me. Now a sane man would have turned and fled, entering a woman’s room without permission – but not this time. The room was aglow in firelight, and I stammered when she called to me. --"Who's there?" (This was not in my plan, the room should have been dark and I could have left the damnable coin and a note for her without detection, but again, fate is cruel in its punishments.)

I sighed, unsure if I should run or remain. Until she spoke once again. “Cullen?”

At first, I kept quiet and silent. I did not move. I stood silent for an hour or better, chastising the fool in me.

Not long after I heard a soft moan. I knew that sound as I had heard it many times in my thoughts in the dark. A sane man would have made his presence known. A madman would have seen to his own needs and a pious man would have run. I, being none of the three, stood frozen. How many nights had I been consumed of thoughts of her? 

Again, the silence of her room broken by the shift of the bedclothes she called out to me once again. In my defense, it would have been wrong of me to startle her, this private moment meant for her ears alone. I cursed my sensibilities for not changing from my armor before venturing out that night, the weight and warmth of its layers coupled with the fire of the blood coursing through me.

How is this not mad? Within the shadows of her room, I hide listening to her soft voice call out to me without benefit of touch or smell. It is the madness of touch that vexes me. My tunic clings to my chest, trousers stretch and pulled a blatant reminder of my need. My lips tingle from the memory of our combined taste, hers to mine, not salty or sweet but all tastes and none at once.

Even then, I did not indulge, even as my body and skin cry out for release, blood pounding through me beating a relentless rhythm through my ears. But, she – if only I spoke, broke the spell of the fantasy of she without me, perhaps then I would not have found myself in this hell of lonely observer. Fear she might hear the beating of my heart. Increasing louder and louder with each sigh from her lips and I - unable to move. Oh, such excitement and terror  - mark me well, if I were another man of boldness and confidence, I would have given her whatever part of me she desired.

Finally, the bells tolled out the midnight hour breaking me free of my paralysis. The late hour would see the hall empty save for a select few, and I would make my escape. Reaching for the door, my resolve shattered by her fervent cry, I would not sleep that night. Silently I slipped from her room and hurried through the near empty hall.

You must think me mad or less of a man for not announcing my presence, but understand my nature is cautious and careful in all things. It was not until I climbed the steps in all haste did I realize what had taken place. A sacred trust broken between us. I would need to confess to her all that had transpired.

It was my intention to bare my soul and beg for her forgiveness that morning. When I had prepared myself for the morning labors tired from lack of sleep and failing to relieve myself of my desires, there came a knocking on the door. There she entered, brighter than sun’s full brilliance, smiling at me. It was here my heart began to thump. _Snake. Lech_. The words pounded out with a loud thump, reminding me of my crime. Do you know how it feels to war within your heart and mind and still talk softly and with respect? It was not she who caused my misery.   

I smiled; in truth, there was nothing to fear. She looked around and stole a kiss, all the while my heart thumped louder and faster until I gasped. Recovering quickly, I claimed I was overwhelmed by her and needed a moment. 

That seemed to convince her, until I felt myself pale and under her scrutinizing gaze, my guilt compounded with each heartbeat.

My head ached and ears rang. None with sounds but with the memory of her rapture coating my name in her chamber.  Louder and louder, her cries echoed in my head and my heart kept pace with her crescendo until I fell in my chair and cradled my head in my hands.

Her concern poured forth and she called out to me. What could I do?  I stammered. I coughed. I rose and paced as I tried to offer excuses for my sudden weakness but the nearness of her, her scent and the memory of my name on her lips was my undoing.

Why would it not cease. Surely, I am not the first to stumble upon such a scene. It is my duty to confess. My heart beats even louder. Con-fess! Con-fess! Maker’s breath! No! I will not admit to such acts when nothing transpired! Con-fess! Con-fess!

Her face twisted into a strange expression. She knows! Maker no! She stood there waiting for me to confess my transgression to her and I pretended to be ill! Anything was better than this agony. I felt the last moments of our togetherness fade, but I could bear this guilt no longer! Con-fess! Con-fess! My heart betrays me until I speak!

“Forgive me, but I fear I stood in your bed chamber during the night, and I heard-“

She reached for my cheek and pulled my face towards hers, releasing me from my fears with five simple words. “I knew you were there.”


End file.
